


The Tired and the Tireless

by Eliromie



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Bathing/Washing, Chronic Ill GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Chronic Illness, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Exhaustion, Hurt/Comfort, Intense Descriptions of Comfort, Living Together, M/M, Neck Kissing, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Sensory Overstimulation, Sickfic, Sleepy Cuddles, Supportive Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Tired GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), at this point dream is screaming at me not to imply anything like that, no beta we die like george???, sensory processing issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29254554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eliromie/pseuds/Eliromie
Summary: Ignorance is bliss they say, but George would quite like to know why he is constantly too exhausted to get out of bed.Unfortunately, not even the 6th Doctor can tell him.Fortunately though, Dream loves him a lot, takes excellent care of him and George can't help but melt against him every time they touch.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 186





	The Tired and the Tireless

**Author's Note:**

> The song that set my mood for this one is 'Aawake at Night' by half-alive. It has nothing to do with the plot, but it's a great song
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't suffer from any physical chronic illness, and I am very sorry if I misrepresented it here. George isn't really meant to suffer from it his whole life, in my head it's been a few months at most, and I based it slightly on my experiences with mental health and psychosomatic problems, though it came out a bit different. I know mental health issues are quite triggering for some people, so please be careful while reading, you may stop at any time, I won't be offended, I promise. 
> 
> This is lots of hurt, even more comfort, and quite some angst. Enjoy!

The pillows are so soft. George doesn’t understand how something can be so soft. His head slowly sinks deeper, until it feels so heavy he isn’t sure he could even keep it up with his own strength.

The tiredness came this noon and hadn’t left him since. Actually, he feels pretty lucky it had come that late today. For the last week, he hadn’t been able to get out of bed at all. Hadn’t Dream insisted on cooking for him, George isn’t sure he would’ve eaten at all.

For today, Dream has finally relented. No more bugging about food, or changing clothes, or answering emails. Now, he can simply lie on his pillows, sinking into this headspace that won’t leave him alone no matter how hard he tries.

Perhaps, that is lie. George hasn’t tried getting rid of that feeling for a long time now.

Even in the dark, the space behind his eyelids feels too bright. He can’t keep them closed, no matter how tired his brain is, no matter how desperate he wishes for sleep to come.

George’s room is mostly quiet, but the curtains flutter the tiniest bit from the wind squeezing through the old seals. In the dark he can’t make out the actual shape or color of it, but if he watches it through the corner of his eye, it looks like a little dance, performed just for him.

They fly through the space, leaving nothing behind but a flutter of air and a soft whooshing sound, before the whole dance repeats itself.

Somewhere downstairs there’s a tiny rumble – maybe Patches jumping around on furniture she isn’t allowed to be on, maybe Dream rummaging around in the kitchen, trying to clean it at least somewhat.

They haven’t really bothered for perfection since this whole thing began, George wouldn’t even see it most days, and Dream has never cared that much for tidiness, so they just spare themselves the effort.

George shifts on the mattress. Not a lot of movement, but it scratches his back just so and sends a tingly shiver down his spine.

It’s nice – feeling such soft sensation. He has long since learned that any heavy kind of touch only makes him overstimulated these days, and it made him fear any kind of sensation.

Taking a shower is a whole nother difficulty on its own, considering George is barely able to get up most days – but the heavy platter of water drops on his sensitive skin makes him fear them even more. If not for Dream…well.

If not for Dream, George truly doesn’t know where he’d be right now. Surely not in his own home, his own bed, taking in the softness of his own pillows.

But Dream takes care of him so well. Even if he sometimes has to force George to do some things.

On the really bad days, Dream wakes George too early for either of them. Way too early for George anyways, but he’s pretty sure even Dream has to force himself to get up that early.

He carefully plucks George out of bed, carrying him into the bathroom with as much skin contact as possible. Most of those times, George is barely aware of what is happening. He’s still too tired to process his surroundings, too tired to be truly bothered by it. In those moments, George just knows how warm Dream is, how gently he gets him out of his clothes, how careful he is when maneuvering George into the tub.

Dream usually sits down too and lets George lean against his chest. At this point, George supposes, he usually dozes off again. It’s too comfortable and he is too tired to be awake. But Dream isn’t. And so Dream gently takes care of George – washing his hair without the sharp rain from the shower, but soft caresses instead.

On better days – days when George was able to sleep through the night peacefully – he at least tries to get all his tasks done himself. He showers alone, even if he misses the skin contact shielding him from the heavy drop and his own thoughts, and Dream prepares food in the meantime.

Yesterday, he was even able to check in with his doctor for the newest lab results, and send them to his employer. It felt good to have it done, but he was too exhausted afterwards to do what he had promised himself to do for the past two weeks now: Spend actual time with Dream.

George turns onto his side. His hips are slightly sore from laying down too much, but now the mattress presses deliciously against his upper arm in a kind of contact he missed so much.

It’s not like he doesn’t spend time with Dream. On the contrary, they are together so much right now, Dream caring for all his needs and wishes, knowing his every want without a single word and scrambling to fulfill it.

But George isn’t stupid, even if his brain doesn’t work quite the way he’d like it to right now. No matter how nice it is to feel Dreams skin against his, he is currently using his boyfriend as either a heater or a personal assistant, and neither of those are things keeping a relationship alive.

He knows exactly how much Dream craves to be there for him and make him feel better, but he is just as aware of how bristle it makes their whole foundation.

Dream and George got together just by being them, by being friends. It’s what they love the most, trusting each other infinitely, cherishing the time spent together, looking back on years spent in each other’s company, and proceeding to enjoy all their shared interest and supporting their ambitions.

But currently, George doesn’t have any interests or ambitions. His hobbies are gone, his motivation to do even anything nonexistent. His support for Dream…dear lord he doesn’t want to think about that.

Today was a good day. He sat with Dream in the kitchen and watched him cut vegetables as he answered two important mails on his laptop. He ate properly, he shaved, he called his mother. It’s been just after that when the tiredness hit. But still, today he had been way more productive than most days, which meant he might just be able to get something done tomorrow. It's always easier getting up when he has recent memory of how he actually succeeded with it.

So maybe, hopefully, tomorrow, he won’t have to use up all his energy on the things he has to do to keep his life steady, but can use it for the person who keeps his life steady.

How long had it been since they last played Minecraft together? Or even just talked about something other than how George felt, what he needed, a new doctor, a new medicine?

Medicine? What time is it now? Isn’t George supposed to take some kind of medicine now?

He taps his mattress with one hand, feeling around for his phone. Once he finds it, he holds it in front of his face and it lights up, unlocking and blaring tales of missed calls, unread texts and forgotten emails into his face. His phone feels like the end boss, and he is not yet ready to fight it. For now, it has to be enough that Dream looks through it once in a while, filtering out all the really important stuff.

Doesn’t he want to do something? Just grabbing his phone isn’t something current George just does. It’s too heavy in his arms, the light too bright, letters too small.

The time, wasn’t it?

11:34 pm, his phone tells him.

That’s fine, it’s not too late. Hopefully, Dream will join him soon and make him forget his sorrows for at least a moment. And perhaps, he might even be able to sleep through, if the pain won’t come crashing down, shaking him awake.

Pain, medicine, that’s why he feels so slurry right now. It’s past 11:30. He’s supposed to take his medicine. But how far away his nightstand seems. Still, isn’t this the one thing Dream damn near begged him to do? Taking his medicine, even if Dream can’t handfeed it to him?

So George swallows the bitter fear coming up his throat and reaches out for the two little pills and the glass of water.

He doesn’t think he can sit up right now, so he doesn’t even try, and instead maneuvers the glass to his lips lying down.

Its room temperature, but the water burns down his throat. So much sensation in only a second, and it’s all he can do not to get water down his windpipe. Coughing is something he does not want to waste energy on right now.

George isn’t quite sure what those pills do. He knows the doctor explained it to him quite well, what they were trying to accomplish, but remembering that stuff is more of Dreams thing right now. He even writes it down in that little red notebook of his that is usually reserved for quickly disregarded novel ideas.

Dream really does care about him, doesn’t he?

Now that he thinks about it, where is Dream? Shouldn’t he be here by now? He usually is.

But before George can spiral too much, footsteps appear on the stairs, a voice shushing – talking to patches perhaps? – and before long, Dream stands in the doorway.

Dream. Surrounded by a halo of light from the hallway and George knows he is just as angelic as he looks right now.

“How’re you feeling, Georgie?” he asks in that gentle voice that’s reserved for his softest moments with George. It makes him feel heavenly. It makes him appreciate his soft bedding even more.

“Hmm,” he hums, too tired to form any words.

Dream walks over. His steps are quiet and careful, constantly looking out for Patches, even if she has probably curled up in her own bed by now. She started doing that a few weeks ago, when George was barely around where she was during the day.

“Did you take your meds?”

George only nods.

Dream seems satisfied with that and turns towards the closet to search for a shirt to sleep in.

Not long after – though hard to tell because George probably had dozed off again – the mattress dips, and a warm body joins George under the covers.

If he felt heavenly before, he must feel like a god now.

Dream is _warm_ and his skin soft. The tendons under it ripple and tense, and suddenly, an arm snakes around Georges waist to pull him closer against Dreams back.

George would love to say he could die like this, but they both know that possibly hits too close to home, so he keeps the thought to himself.

Instead he says, “’missed you,” in that drowsy tone that barely sounds like himself anymore.

“No need to miss me, I’ll always be here.”

And it’s a promise. A promise that makes George belly fill with baby butterflies, and his head swarm with tiny hornets. Sometimes, it scares him how much Dream sacrifices for him. It’s been too long with too little to give back to him. And George can’t lose Dream. He simply can’t, his heart wouldn’t survive that. It barely scrapes by as is, overwhelmed with his love for Dream.

“I love you,” George whispers.

He can’t help himself when a small tear makes its way over his cheek. Dream can’t see it, but that doesn’t matter, for they are molten together like this anyway. Their emotions torn raw and wide open after weeks and months of whatever this is, at the thought of coming months. At the thought of not coming months – no certainty, but certainly a lingering fear. After all, none of them really know what is going on.

But they don’t have to know. Not when their bodies are pressed together under the blankets, not when Dreams calming aura engulfs him. Right then, right there, everything is ok. Just for a second. And if they just try hard enough, maybe they can prolong the second as long as their hearts need to fuel for the next day.

“I know. I love you too.” Dream says it right into his ear, pressing soft breaths against the shell of it and it tingles slightly.

“I love you so much, so so much, and I won’t ever leave you behind. I know you worry, George.” He pulls George closer. “I love you the way the moon loves the sun, like, I need you with me to light up at night, and only with you can I, can I continue on the path of life I want to be on. It doesn’t matter to me how long this takes, how- how much we, how much we have to suffer- together,” he swallows thickly, “You give me so much strength, even if you don’t have _any_ for your own, and I want, I want nothing more than to give you back a little bit of strength. Even if- even if all I could do is be here, and lie with you, and- and- George?”

“Hm?”

“Can I?”

“M-hm!”

George knows what Dream means. Words are exhausted for today, everything’s said and done, every last bit of understanding Dream could plant into Georges head he did, and probably, Dream is plain craving to do something too much to keep on talking right now. And George, well, George might just be too exhausted to process words, but soft sensations on his skin are something he can’t get enough of.

A pair of lips moves along his uppermost vertebra. Then, slowly, Dream peppers more kisses along George’s spine, tiny ones, short ones, lingering ones, and ones with a bit more pressure.

George’s skin tingles in the best way. It’s been too long since he felt something like this, and it’s nearly too much. Dreams lips, the heat, his whole back is touching skin and his waist is engulfed by Dreams arm.

George feels _safe._

He feels safe when Dreams Hands begin to stroke all over his upper body, he feels safe when Dream leans over to kiss little patches under his jaw, he feels safe when Dream licks over his skin and blows cool air over it.

George feels safe all over, and it makes him melt even more. If he’s melting into the mattress or Dreams arms, he’s not quite sure. But Dream sighs contentedly and snuggles even closer.

He could die like this, George doesn’t think. Instead he tries to think, _I could sleep like this._

And he could. So he does. It’s not the easiest feat to let himself actually lose the last bit of control he has of his conscience, but Dream is with him, isn’t he. And he just knows Dream won’t sleep quite yet. It’s not in his nature. Instead, Dream will watch over him. Perhaps even revel in the way he made George calm down and feel good in his arms.

Falling asleep is so peaceful like this. It’s a moment they allow themselves to have together and bask in it.

And if George is shaken awake by burning pain consuming his every fiber, and met with Dreams horrified expression while forcing him to keep still so he can make George swallow what he knows will make him feel better? If they cannot fall asleep again this night, for George’s pain will not leave, and neither will Dreams? If George cries over his sudden knowledge that he won’t be able to make Dream happy too tomorrow? If the next days are not spent with video games, but in even more MRIs and CAT scanners? If the emotion coursing through them is nothing but grief?

Well, they are happy in this very moment, aren’t they? Then so be it.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok listen,,,I planned to write hurt/comfort smut, because this is based on me and I wanted to romantizise how sucky I feel rn, but then I started to feel *really* sucky so it drifted into angst more and more.
> 
> I'm fine though, don't worry, I'm just overdramatic and fucking annoyed at my body >:|
> 
> If you enjoyed it, leave kudos or a comment, I really enjoy talking to you in the comments! 
> 
> Or you can just vent a bit about how sucky and annoying your body is health-wise, cuz same (:


End file.
